Versal Vesper
by The Shuiro Amaya
Summary: When your mind is wiped clean, involuntarily or not, what do you do? The world is, after all, a place where fairytale endings exist only in books and flights of fancy. And if darkness is encroaching on all sides, you have to find a way to make a stand, despite the fact that you know nothing. Oneshots for the prompt of "Memory Loss."
1. Chapter 1: Assonance

**Hello again. It's been a year since I've touched or even looked at this story. To be honest, I have no idea where I was going with this, and there was literally no plot established in my head. But thank you to the nine people who reviewed, the three people who favorite-ed, and the four people who followed. **

**I think that I'm going to make this a collection of oneshots. I cannot see where I would go with this otherwise. So a collection of one shots based on the prompt "memory loss" it is. This is my new first chapter, and the original first chapter will appear maybe three more chapters down the line. I'm only planning for this to be about 5-6 chapters long. **

**This is rather random and the middle may be slightly disjointed, which will last for a while until I can fix it, because I wrote this on a whim and came up with the ending and beginning first and second, respectively.**

**Thanks again, everyone.**

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><p>Chapter One: Assonance<p>

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><p>It had taken over four months, five laboratories, 1,200 deaths, and about 10,000 torn out hairs before the process was deemed safe enough to test on the one mutant they could not possibly lose.<p>

The scientist steeled herself and raised a slightly shaking hand, armed with a scalpel, to make the first cut.

The world was riding on this. She could not fail. But could she do this? Could she?

Her vision narrowed down to the beam of light that was reflected off the metal of the scalpel as it fell.

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><p>Five shadows of different length slipped down the hallways silently, splitting up and traversing down different paths without a single word or gesture. Their shared thoughts were more than enough communication.<p>

Sometimes, they wondered what they were. To have six conjoined minds was a rare happenstance, even in the experiment-happy lab they had woken up in. Experiment Two theorized that it probably had something to do with the youngest of them, who possessed a talent in thought manipulation. Experiment Three had stopped caring when he realized they could send pictures and colors alongside their thought-messages. Experiment Four hadn't contemplated it at all, just accepting it and using the rest as a sounding board. Experiment Seven had the same attitude as Experiment Two when he found out, completely by accident, that smells could be delivered into the others' minds when he chose to do so.

As for Experiment Six? She had been curious and had delved into the minds of the scientists around her. After a while of collecting information, she decided that it probably happened because of her and a chemical that was supposed to grant new powers that went awry. She concluded that her mental pathways had reacted unfavorably to the enhancer and tore themselves open. Her mind had probably found itself weakened and her power would have then surged away in a wave to find a way to seal up the breaches. As the same batch had been given to all of them, even the one in a medically-induced coma, the feeble and fluctuating pathways most likely had attached to the only familiar minds they could find: the other five of them. And after time, the pathways would have grown stronger and more solid and probably had reached out to the ones they could sense were connected to them, so they were now joined in a web of links.

But that was the past. That had already happened. And the destination they were traveling to held someone who could determine their future.

Experiment One.

Not much was known about Experiment One, even to them. Their lives before this one of bleached walls and shared minds had been wiped clean. They had no recollections or memories of anything prior to their existences here. Her mind was mostly blocked to them, as Experiment Six had closed off all access to her thoughts, saying, "You don't want to know what she dreams of all the time."

They had seen her before, distantly from hazed memories that Experiment Six had sent to them. They had talked about her before, wondering about the strange bond they felt with her despite not knowing her. But they had never met her before.

So they were going to now. Relying on the vague locations Experiment Six had scrounged out of many random scientists' minds, they twisted and turned all throughout the laboratory, hoping that at least one of them would get to the room before they were caught.

Experiment Six was chanting in her mind as she jogged in time to the tune of a small ditty she had pulled out of a scientist's mind. Recognizing the melody, Experiment Four chimed in as well, singing softly under her breath as she paced down the corridor. Experiments Two, Three, and Five did not join in, but relaxed at the familiar song.

_"What would you bestow on a lonely child _

_Except for the gift of a sweet, lovely smile_

_Loud babble in a tense situation_

_May only be spoken to divert _inquisition."__

Experiment Three had thought the lines slightly too happy, and he eventually jumbled up the patterns to come up with a new verse, which Experiment Six and Four now strung along with the original:

_"What recognition would you bestow on an arrogant child _

_When silence is prevalent no matter what situation_

__Remember: the mask of a thin, frigid smile__

_Will be shown to ward away any rude inquisition."  
><em>

Experiments Four and Six now began singing in a round, one cascade of sound following the other, until a chime of bells was transmitted along the link to everyone from Experiment Two. Experiment Six frowned as she felt Experiment One stir behind her dam of concrete and brick. What had changed?

Experiment Two saw fit to enlighten them on this account. His thoughts rumbled along the link, as soft spoken as his voice when he chose to use it. "... I found Experiment One's room. A doctor just entered it. An operation was just finished."

Experiment Six could almost feel everyone's frown. Operations were a tricky business; they were risky and she had seen many experiments die as a result. Scowling just a bit harder, she forced herself to run faster, footsteps landing inaudibly as she raced down the empty passage.

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><p>"So, doctor. Is it done?"<p>

The woman trembled in the face of Dr. Batchelder's steely question, knowing instinctively that if she said no or if she had made a mistake her life was forfeit. "Ye-Ye-Yes..." she mumbled.

Dr. Batchelder raised a greying eyebrow, his body language projecting that he had caught her doubt. "And you are convinced that no problems occurred? I'm sure you have been notified of the consequences that will befall you if any harm has come to Experiment One."

"Ye-Yes, I'm s-sure." Inwardly, she cursed herself for the stutter, but was conscious of and relieved by the fact that this serious man inspired the same reaction with all her colleagues.

He hummed noncommittally, walking in circles around the patient's bed. Her shoulders rose and fell systematically, and her heart rate remained even. Although her eyelids jerked slightly at his second round, she soon calmed down, taking in deep breaths of air. Jeb glanced at her one more time before he headed towards the door, calling out, "We shall see in a few days."

He opened the door and stepped outside. The woman barely stopped the door from slamming shut as she scurried away in the opposite direction. Jeb headed down the hall before tossing over his shoulder, "Experiments Two to Six, stop eavesdropping. Follow me."

Five sheepish figures trailed after the retreating figure of Jeb, minds racing and talking about the girl inside the room.

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><p>Eyelashes fluttered open as the subject of the conversation outside sat up, discarding all pretensions of being asleep. She tilted her head and stared at the wall eastwards of her bed. Damask blushes of color had been carefully stroked over the blindingly white walls and gave the impression of being trapped behind the black frames of a painted window. If she hadn't known better, she would have said she was watching the rise of a new world.<p>

But there was no new world. Just a tired, weary, civilization that would give anything, everything, for a new dawn.


	2. Chapter 2: Eurhythmy

Chapter 2: Eurhythmy

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><p>When Max dances, she forgets.<p>

She forgets that Ari is dead, that Ella is more robot than human, that Valencia is being stretched to her breaking point, that Jeb is approaching madness more and more each day. She forgets that the one person she thinks she might have loved has left her, that her close-knit group is fraying, that her second family has almost effectively abandoned her. And most of all, she forgets about the thick, ropy, parallel scars that carve their way down her back, forever a reminder of the accident that crashed into her life.

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><p>Max used to be a fighter.<p>

Before her back muscles were cleaved apart into two, Max thrilled in the throwing of punches. She only felt truly alive when her hair was plastered to her face and her opponent was flat on the floor. Mouth tasting of iron, adrenaline running through her veins, knuckles split and bleeding; she performed best when tensions were tangible and the stakes were high. Fighting was running free; fighting was flying.

And she was part of a group that had her back at all times, despite the odds.

Fang, Iggy, Nudge, Gazzy, Angel. The six of them were brothers and sisters in all but blood. All of them possessed a natural fighting talent and extra abilities of all different kinds.

They were her family. They were her flock.

Although they could not be classified as a "gang" or anything close, they were well-known enough for being a group of good fighting prowess. They were challenged often as a group, and despite the fact that Max and everyone else in the group sometimes wished they could stop clashing with others for just a while, they would all be lying if they said they did not enjoy it to some degree.

They were her flock. They were One.

They fought together. They worked together. When they had something to confide, it was told with the confider already knowing and accepting and the fact that within the matter of half an hour, the whole group would know. They visited each other's hideouts, stole each other's food, camped out at each other's houses.

They were One.

For a time, everything was running smoothly. Life was not perfect by any degree, what with the parents having crazy working hours and the children beating other people up in dark alleyways, but it was an existence that Max enjoyed.

And then came the collision.

It was a drunk driver type of accident, just like so many others out there. Valencia had been driving, and Ella had snatched away the front seat the moment they had approached the car, leaving Max to sit in the back with Ari.

It had happened in the matter of seconds. A black Toyota lost control in the middle of the road, careening erratically forward and smashing into the bumper of their car, driving the back left side of their Audi into a lamppost.

She will never forget the sound of the windows shattering, or Valencia's shriek as she spun the wheel as quickly as possible but only managed to shift their car into a even heavier tilt. Likewise, she will always remember the feeling of agony as two shards of glass tear their way through her back and the feeling of hopelessness as she sees the defeated look in Ari's eyes as his section of the car is sent screeching across the pavement, headed towards the heavy metal of the street light.

Sometimes, Max wakes up screaming, an arm grasping uselessly in the air as she fights to snatch Ari away from the destruction.

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><p>She spends an endless amount of time in the hospital, battling both depression and infection in different intervals.<p>

Perhaps a couple months into her treatment, she comes to the realization that she hasn't been visited by anyone but the nurses for at least a week. The same day, she is told by the doctors that although it seems her muscles will be able to function normally with treatment, her back will never be able to stand the strain of being hit.

_"No more fighting," the doctor says, eyes flashing with a severe look. "Not unless you wish to be permanently stationed in a hospital room."_

Max despairs.

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><p>A month later she meets Lestelle. The physical therapist is snarky, sarcastic, and rather pessimistic. At the same time, she gives off a vibe that tells Max that Lestelle really does want to help her. To some degree. She reminds Max of herself. That is, the herself before the accident.<p>

Lestelle's version of helping is to push and push and _push_ until Max's back is aching and sweat is pouring down her forehead. And when Max drops in exhaustion, Lestelle picks her up off the ground and forces her to do it again. And again. And again.

Sometimes, Max thinks she might really hate her.

But Lestelle's method is exactly what Max needs. She has always been one to rise to the occasion, to keep fighting when all seems hopeless, to never give an inch or show her weakness. It is through Lestelle that Max gets better, albeit grudgingly.

And it is through Lestelle that Max discovers dance, by one day arriving to their meeting early and watching wide-eyed as Lestelle guides another patient through a set of flowing moves that reminds her of katas. The moment the other patient's session ends, Max bullies Lestelle into promising to teach her too after the doctors pronounce her healed enough to attempt more heavy movement. Which happens three grueling, boring months into her physical therapy.

Dance doesn't pump her body full of energy the way fighting did. In that way, it's just a pale imitation. Because she's just a beginner, and a beginner in the hospital at that, she is unable to execute her movements with any kind of fluidity or speed. Dance is frustrating, because it reminds her of fighting, and if there was one thing that she was once good at it would be fighting, and yet she cannot seem to make any headway in dance.

Not to say that taking up dance with Lestelle was a bad idea either. It may not give her a rush like punching and dodging did, but Max is always absorbed in her movements, focusing singularly on the choreography. When Max dances, all she thinks about is the next position and how to get there without falling flat on her face. When Max dances, she is far too busy calculating the moves of her arms and legs to worry about situations in the outside world.

As Max dances, she believes that a pair of white and tan and brown speckled wings are stretching from her shoulder blades , taking place of the two scars that are holding her life down.

Although Max cannot meld together the ideas of fighting and dancing, the concepts of flying and dancing seem to come together naturally, and she cannot help but feel that she dances better with that thought in mind.

Lestelle seems to think so too, which is how Max, through no agreement on her part, is going to audition for... for what again? Never mind. The point is that Max is unhappy with Lestelle for going behind her back and signing her up for _something she has not said yes to_. Oh, and don't forget the fact that she has _never had any professional training_, or the fact that _she is still in therapy_.

Lestelle brushes her off, and says that it'll be good for her; after all, the dance _is_ therapy for her back, she doesn't _need_ professional training to audition, and _Max_ is the one who is always complaining about the lack of epinephrine in the system these days. Max grudging accepts this, but sulks for a week, before getting back on schedule and becoming determined to at least not make a fool out of herself.

Which brings us to today.

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><p>The heavy red curtain rises slowly, and the stage is lit up. Max is standing in the middle, stance relaxed. The applause and cheers of the audience roars to greater heights, but Max doesn't hear them.<p>

To her, they're nonexistent. The world consists of only her and the memories that haunt the corners of her mind.

Max raises her gaze to stare at the spotlight, ignoring the pain that sears in her corneas and the tears that involuntarily well at the corners of her eyes. If she pretends hard enough, she can imagine that the blinding light is an indication of the future, of a life where the people around her are healed. If she concentrates hard enough, she can see in her mind's eye the way such a future would look.

It's beautiful.

Max closes her eyes, and she dances.

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><p><strong>So. I finally got around to featuring Lestelle. I didn't want to put her in the first chapter, because then she would have to be a whitecoat. O.o Instead, Lestelle is a physical therapist of indeterminate age who helps Max get over what happened. Stardust, this is for you! (Please talk to me? *bambi eyes*)<strong>

**Anyways. Sorry to the people who couldn't review my last chapter because you reviewed my original first chapter. (Here's to hoping you actually saw the new version of my first chapter and wanted to review it haha. Not to be depressing. Or facetious.) Um. Here's the second chapter? So if you want to give me any thoughts on the new chapter, just put it in a review here?**

**Okay, just to warn you, I'm really fickle. I might decide to rewrite this chapter too, because to me it seems really rushed, and then you'll be out of luck. Again. But! I'll try not to, alright? Yup.**

**So. What can I say. I guess most of the chapters are going to be in a format similar to this one: intro, background, present.**

**Enjoy?**

**Lestelle: Why would they?**

**Me: Geez Lestelle. You're ruining the mood!**

**Lestelle: … What mood?**


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